I sit here and wonder, truly, at the cause, the origin of my anxiety at working this job. I know that lives can be in the balance and I can be held accountable for whatever goes wrong, but why is it so unsettling? People around me seem unaffected, content, and otherwise the opposite of me. The sweat runs in streams, almost, down my side, darkening my shirts under the arms. I am only talking to people…people just like me. I had a brain lapse first thing this morning and I don’t think I have recovered. It was an obvious call in which I just couldn’t grasp from my mind the type of call that it should be coded. The supervisor said, “What do you think?” It seemed like a real “Captain Obvious” moment that seems to have set me back somewhat. Self-confidence is at a low. The people seem particularly irritating today, as well; and bossy, and ignorant. I am out of kilter and they are primed and ready. There were moments I felt like I wanted to explode from the frustration. The Quiet Room was beckoning. I couldn’t smart off and that’s what I really wanted to do. But now it is lunchtime, my sad book is finished – I’ll have to get the rest of his books, too, Robert Stone. So the day is half over – or more, actually, and when I leave I get to drive to Avondale to get my baby. Softness, gentleness; reason for going on, reason for living, for many things. It’s not creative, but it’s expression. The pen is to paper and the elements are flowing. Flashes of images: the anniversary card I put by the coffee pot three days early, knowing I will put one out for the next three days as well, a flash of Josh, the garage, my chair by the piano, the plant running the length of the stairs, my mom, and more. “Everything is proved upon the pulses.” And?

And where it stirs is unknown but for the stirring. And then. I looked within to find the reason and the reason’s reasons. Closed eyes and opening heart. Searching for the portal that will release the flood. Searching for the portal. I finished a book, most sad, about the destruction wrought in a family by a sick parent and an obsessed parent. One child who was born with something wrong and hovered over by the sick parent, and another child who was adored by the obsessed parent and loathed by the sick one. Hated and loved simultaneously. The loved and hated child ended up losing her own mind and finding the end in darkness. Finding the soothing nonexistence of death. It was sad to watch her coming undone. It was sad to feel what her loved one, her mate, was going through while partaking in her life, when they talked about things that were better left unsaid, but had to be, unavoidable things. The kinds of things that further rent and harmed the other party. And then? The quiet house came undone. The foundation rocked and never stilled. Well, it was only to be stilled in the loose and fragmented mind. The torn heart that hadn’t learned to love. Where would she find salvation, since her god was dead? Where would she rest her soul if she had one? By mine. By mine in the eternal hereafter. And then? How the chords come, how they burst forth in song that means only what the heart knows and the tongue fails to express. How it stirs, from deep inside. I would that I could listen internally forever. I wish. Oh, I would that the song could flow unrepentantly, without hindrance, without impeded thought and constraint by others’ eyes. Soothe where the damage is done. Assuage the recklessness, still the torment; show the way to clear sight. And then. And then. The chords release the chains. They release the worries and concerns pent up within. They release what the tongue and lips cannot. They release. Find the saving release in their escape. And then. With ease. And counsel. And tight throat. The door opened, the heart closed.

In a fever, I slipped from scene to scene, desirous of the portable pen to capture the thoughts and bring to them a permanence that was otherwise not theirs. It was a cyclone of images that whirled together and apart and had a semblance of meaning that could have been deciphered with someone’s unease. Places I had been and faces I had encountered in many unreal ventures of living and existing outside of the normal self. Whence came I to understand the unattainable? Whose life had been caught in the web of searching and find? That is all.

When I was a child, I spoke as a child and understood with the mind of a child. What was a child? What was the child in fetters to become upon release? How would he know when the release came? What herald could he trust? They lied. Thought censor prohibits reality from speaking with its multi-tongued lucidity and confusion. The escape was unknown and lost to reasonable thought. Never gave it another thought. I guess I thought that this is just the life that I have and that’s it. Of course I considered running away, but where was I to go? Where could I go? Naive in life and experience, fearful of the wrathful hand, I just endured. Simple enough. Behind the water conduit pipes that had been placed as playground equipment in the common yard, I lay contemplating a destination. Further down the dirt road I went then, seeking any kind of escape, leading nowhere, but away. The two tire-ruts that constituted the perimeter road lead further into the woods and then beyond the split to that one spot where we found the snake. Torn open, its heart still beating, it had two firecrackers shoved into its internal organs, then BOOM!!! A ringing and tingling of all my senses, fingers, and ears – scared me to death. Unexplainable, I would certainly get my ass beat if discovered. My ears still ring. I have been discovered by none other than myself. The snake symbolizes rebirth, everlasting life, and so she lives forever in my ringing ears. Die not. Salvation was scrawled out on a piece of notebook paper when I was sick. The perfect crucifixion scene with the wind and everything. I was ill and alone in that. I have searched and cannot find. Beyond the conduit and into the woods was a hole that had been dug into the rich earth. A shard from a green ‘7- Up’ bottle left a scar on the little finger of my left hand. Blood dripped into the dark soil, somewhat like a drop of mercury sliding across a tabletop. Different though, it collected smaller bits of the dirt as it rolled further into the hole. The pain shot up my arm and into the shoulder, registering finally at my brain before I knew what I had done. Ok. One of the neighbor kids would sneak out of the house with a baggie full of Oreo cookies and a cardboard can of frozen orange juice concentrate – Minute-Maid. It was fun because it was stolen, but in truth, it wasn’t a good mix of flavors. We hid in the conduit, out of sight.

Another day brought my father and me out into the yard to play catch. One of the things that dads and their boys do. It was not a sunny day and the grass, I believe, was nigh unto dead – it must have been winter or late fall, maybe early spring. The ball kept coming to me faster and faster. It stung my hand afresh with each catch. I would toss the ball back to my father and he would burn it back to me. With each rotation of his arm, I would wince inside at the thought of missing the ball. I knew it would hurt like hell if it smacked me in the face – if it happened to glance off the outer edge of the pocket, missing its target. Hey, batter, batter! Hey, batta, batta! Maybe the glove wasn’t the target. My father. He told me later, when I was an adult, that he wanted to quit playing catch but didn’t want to spoil my ‘fun’ by simply calling it to an end, saying he was done…so he just kept throwing the ball harder so I’d want to quit myself…and I guess I thought the attention was good, it was positive somehow, I mean – he wasn’t yelling at me or beating me or ignoring me, so it must have been good…and I kept tossing it back to him…and he kept firing it back to me…it ended somehow…and he remembered it all those years later. I know why I remembered…but why did he?

Yes, they spoke of angels’ wings and other sacred things. They, and I, sat on the edge of your mental periphery and scouted the ideas and concretized miscalculations that you had made in viewing us. We happened to notice the wrinkle on the side of your one eye that was caused by long and hard pondering of things that you thought went around in the night of our minds. You disclosed to nobody the inner dealings of those tangled nerve endings and beseeched your own unknown for the release. Too bad. You are captured in your self. We are freed from your perpetual gaze, for we exist without you, and you do not. You are your own imagining. We live. Free. To free.

Fall from grace and find your own self. Search those nether regions and un-lose your self. We have and have not. We have and are having to do that which is not. We have seen the eroding sand castles on invisible shores. We have observed the tide wearing away at the unimaginable. We are. We are beyond the imagined ourselves. They have not unknown what in us lies. Unimagined.

Looking through the mind and seeing out of the physical eye, I beheld that there were bars before me, like the frames of leaded window panes, structured, yet unmade. Pointing the sight of my gaze, the lines began to sway in rhythm with themselves; undulations, and parallel. Gone in the glimmer of the flicking eye; moving like a mouse along the baseboard. She runs from the quiet become loud and hides beneath the empty wrappings of warm bodies. And gone. The spirit mouse vanished as though she never was. Hiding in my mind. You are pure crazy. And then. Bring on the cat to find the hiding. Her little heart beats beside the shining of the stars, and the tiny eyes, while unmoving, see the world from an inch above the soil. How do you acquaint the hunter, or scoop up the broom to unliven the furred runner? Baby whiskers see, hear, and smell – me. No. Unfind the hiding. Live, beat little heart – you are not of a roach. My prejudice against ectoskeleton life- forms reminiscent of fouled kitchen appliances brought into pristine dwellings separates you from this lesser being. Live and enjoy your diminutive yet worthwhile existence. Live and enjoy!

Several weeks later, just as Zachary’s hope of finding a Tonka Truck began to grow very thin, he was visited by one of the angels. “Master Zachary,” he began, “Joseph has asked me to bring you to Heaven’s Gate. He said that he has news. You must come quickly!” Zachary jumped to his feet and started running in circles about the angel’s feet. “What did he say? What did he say? Did he find a Tonka Truck for me? Did he? Come on, you have to tell me!” Zachary’s frantic questioning did nothing but make the angel smile. “Let’s go,” said the angel, “take my hand, and follow me.” Grabbing the angel’s hand, and turning quickly to look behind him, nearly tripping himself with the effort, Zachary yelled, “Grandma Lois! Grandma Lois! Come on! Joseph found some Tonka Trucks! Yippee!”

So the angel, Zachary, and Grandma Lois made their way to Heaven’s Gate. Zachary was certain that they could get there quicker if they ran, but the angel reminded him that they needed to proceed at a slower pace so that Grandma Lois wouldn’t be left behind. “Well, can’t you carry us there? Can’t you just pick us up and get us there as quick as a thought?” “I can do that,” said the angel, “but we are only supposed to do that when going down to the Earth, or when we are responding to some kind of danger. Up here in Heaven, we angels are to walk like everyone else.”

Some moments later, the trio arrived at Heaven’s Gate. They found Joseph, as always, just sitting there, rocking back and forth in his favorite chair, humming a little tune. “You found them! You found them! Where are the Tonka Trucks?” said Zachary, as he ran up to Joseph. “How did you get them here? Did one of the angels bring them up from the Earth?” “Slow down there,” said Joseph, “hang on just a minute. I didn’t tell the angel that I found any of your trucks. I just asked him to tell you that I had some news.” With that, Zachary stopped his questions, and with a suddenly very sad face, he just stood there, silent, and unmoving. “What do you mean?” said the little boy, “You didn’t get any Tonka Trucks? That’s not the news?” “Well, in a way, it is,” replied the old saint; “I have found the secret that will allow you to find them for yourself.” Zachary was confused, but when Joseph turned to look at Grandma Lois, the kind woman had a big, beautiful smile on her face, for she, too, knew the secret. “Zachary,” Grandma Lois said, “come here. Come here and listen to Joseph. I know you have already looked in every possible place, but just listen to what your friend has to tell you. He is going to share the secret that we all come to learn after we have been in Heaven for a while. Joseph is going to help you figure it out, so be still, and listen.”

“Zachary,” said Joseph, “come here and sit with me. Climb up here on my lap and sit facing me. There. Now, lean forward and rest your head against mine, like this. We are going to take a little journey, right here, where we are sitting. We’re not actually going to leave, but we are going to go far, far away.” “I don’t know what you mean, Joseph. How can we go somewhere if we’re not going to leave your rocker, if we’re going to stay right here?” said Zachary. “Close your eyes and listen to me,” responded Joseph, “just close your eyes.” Suddenly, Zachary could see inside of Joseph’s mind. “Wow!” he said, “how did you do that?” “Sit still Little One. Lean your head against mine, now, and just sit still.” Again, Zachary was joined with Joseph inside the old man’s mind. He truly did feel that he was going on a journey. He felt almost like he was being carried about on a wing, nearly flying through his friend’s thoughts and consciousness. Zachary felt warm, and at peace. He saw images of Joseph’s life, old people, children, statues, masks, flowers, and an unending sky. His friend was a wonderful man, thought Zachary. He was amazed at all the sensations, emotions, and states of consciousness that were new and strange to his little mind.

After what seemed to be a very long time, Zachary’s feeling of flight stopped and he could see that he and Joseph were standing before a magnificent, ancient building. “Zachary,” the old man said, “we are here.” Looking toward the arch overhead, the little boy, with Joseph’s mind, read the graven inscription ‘hall of answers’ and understood it to mean – ‘Hall of Answers.’ “This, My Little Friend, is where I find the answers to fill all of the holes that Hope brings. It is in this place, that I find my peace.”

In his mind, Joseph took the little boy’s hand and led him up the stairs, through the immense, wooden door, and into the great Hall. Zachary stood in awe of the thousands of shelves, racks, and stands that contained the books of Joseph’s knowledge. The old sage began walking up one aisle, and then back down the next, searching the stacks and piles of monstrous notebooks and ledgers, hoping to find that one hidden something. “Ah! I remember where I put it,” said Joseph, “follow me!” Back to the far side of the building, up two flights of circular stairs, and back again to the middle of the Hall, but on the third floor, the old man led his companion to yet another remote corner of his mind, where they found in a toppled pile, several ancient, cracked, leather-bound manuscripts. “This is it,” said the old man, “this is where the answer lies.” Joseph dug to the bottom of the heap and extracted three small, red, leather-covered books. Their golden edges were dull with time, and in the dim light, Zachary could barely make out the embossed letters of their title – ‘The Contents of Heaven.’

“In each of us,” said Joseph, “there is a precious, secret place that tells us of Heaven. These little, red books tell of my Paradise. Now that you have made the journey with me, Zachary, you are prepared to take that same trek inside of your own, little self.” Joseph’s tiny friend just stood there, hugging the old man’s leg, softly crying to himself, being overcome with the emotion he felt for his wise friend. Then, slowly, Zachary began to smile with the youthful realization that he could now find the Tonka Trucks that he so dearly wanted. “Can we go now?” said Zachary. “We’re already there,” replied his old friend, “just open your eyes.”

Later that night, many hours after Grandma Lois had tucked Zachary into his bed, the unconscious self of Heaven’s little wanderer continued to search the far reaches of his mind, hoping to find his own, ‘Hall of Answers.’ Whether or not he actually found his own ‘Book of Heaven’ is unknown, but it is my understanding that, shortly before waking the next morning, Zachary dreamed that he had found his beloved Tonka Trucks.

Jumping from his feather comforter, Zachary awoke with the full excitement of his discovery. “I know where they are!” he shouted. “Grandma Lois, I know where they are!” Running out of their cottage and down the path through the Cottonwood forest, Zachary continued running, skipping, and hopping until he came to Heaven’s Gate. “Joseph, I know where they are! I know where to find the Tonka Trucks!” And on he went!

Zachary ran through fields of wild flowers and waist-high grass, splashed through a shallow stream, and came at last, to the edge of Heaven’s Lake. “There they are!” he shouted, “just like in my dream!” Joseph and Grandma Lois, assisted by one of the swiftly flying angels, arrived just in time to see their little friend reveal his find. Zachary climbed over the rocks, and disappeared for a moment behind the spilling stream of water, then stepped out again, triumphant, holding a Tonka Truck in each hand. “Yippee, yippee! Look what I found! Joseph! Grandma Lois! Look what I found! There are Tonka Trucks in Heaven!” The end.

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This story is dedicated to the memory of Zachary Fleshman, a three year-old boy who was murdered by his mother’s boyfriend – for playing too loudly with the new Tonka Truck that he received for his birthday a couple days before his death – April 21, 1996. I wrote the story to comfort Grandma Lois’ granddaughter, my wife, as she struggled with the horribleness of Zachary’s death. Whether we hold with the world-view that we might go on to a ‘better’ place when we die, or not, this story speaks to the hope or wish that while we are alive, or while we exist, wherever that is and in whatever form, that our lives and existence can be full of the people and things that we love, be they pets, toys, or whatever else it is that we cherish.

One day, not too long ago, a little boy died whose name was Zachary. I wish I could tell you that he passed quietly in his sleep, that his little soul just couldn’t stay here on Earth any longer and had to leave, to go back to that splendid Heaven from which the souls of all the little babies come to us. I cannot tell you this, for it did not happen so.

In recounting this tale of truth, I must confess that the little boy died from wounds he received at the hands of a horrible monster that attacked him over and over again. The details of his death are too sad to repeat here, but let me say that he felt no love at the time of his passing. Never more alone did Zachary feel than when his little soul finally left his battered form to begin its journey home.

Where were the guardian angels, you ask, who were supposed to protect his life while on this planet Earth? That, I do not know for sure, but I believe they were there, for I have been told that their powers were greatly diminished by the same evil that consumed the monster who took Zachary’s life. The angels’ remaining strength was used to take Zachary home to Heaven, where he is to this day.

We have heard since the olden days that the pearly gates of Heaven are guarded by gloriously fierce angels with bright, flaming swords, who are ready at an instant to slay any evil being who might try to enter there. This is just a story, we find out now, that was created by some old, gray men who don’t like children, puppies, and the morning sunshine. The truth, we know, is that Heaven does have a gate, but it is not adorned with pearls. It is, instead, an old wooden gate with one of the boards missing. Furthermore, it is surrounded by brightly flowered bushes and has a spring to help it close so none of Heaven’s puppies and babies get lost.

The returning souls are greeted by an older, soft-eyed gentleman who is rocking there in an even-older, cane rocking-chair. On an overturned garden bucket, setting nearby, the old gentleman, Joseph, has a big book, and a balance. “Let me see your heart,” he says to the approaching wanderer. “Let me see whether you’ve been good or bad in your life on Earth.” You see, this is how a soul is really measured for entrance into Heaven. If one has lived a life of goodness and sorrow, their hearts will be heavy with love and suffering. The scale will tip and release the latch to the old wooden gate, allowing it to open, welcoming the traveler home. If one has been mean in their life on Earth, and has felt no sorrow, their hearts will be empty and the scale will not move. Joseph will tell this errant soul to go back down that long, hot highway to Earth and live there, yet again. When they have learned how to be kind, and how to feel the sorrow that saddens other people’s lives, they may return to Heaven and have their hearts weighed again. “I will gladly let you in,” says Joseph, “when you have learned. Until then, you must spend your life on Earth.”

This is where we find Zachary, now, standing before Joseph with the weakened, tattered angels at his side. “Hello, Little One,” came Joseph’s soft voice, “What are you doing here so early? Are you sure it’s time for your arrival?” Zachary’s tear filled eyes gazed at Joseph with an extreme sadness and bewilderment. “Master,” said the closest angel, “our little friend has come home. He was sorely abused by the Evil One’s monster and it was only by the slightest chance that we all escaped. Please weigh his heart so that he can enter into his rest. You must know that his has been a long journey.”

Leaning back in his rocking-chair, Joseph closed his eyes, and with a slow sigh, finally said, “You are right, my faithful friend, let us delay no longer.” Sitting forward now, Joseph called to Zachary, “Come here Little One; tell me about your life. Let me see what kind of child you have been.” Zachary slowly walked up to the old man, and putting his tiny hand into Joseph’s, climbed up onto his lap and leaned back as if to fall asleep. With his head leaning against the gentle gate-keeper’s chest, Zachary began to cry, saying that he didn’t know what he had done wrong, but it must have been terrible to receive the punishment that he had. Joseph tried to sooth the little boy, softly humming a tune, and gently smoothing his tousled hair. “Let’s see what the book says about you, Zachary.” Joseph flipped through several pages of the mighty book, and at last came to the entry about little Zachary. “What it says here, Little One, is that you have done nothing wrong. You have committed no offense, and your heart is full of sadness and suffering. The short life you had lived was little more than strife, neglect, and abuse.” After a pause and a click of his tongue, Joseph stood-up with Zachary in his arms, and held him close. Standing thus, the love from his heart passed into the tiny, sad heart of Zachary. Then, slowly, as if he were coming to life, yet again, Zachary stirred, stretched, and raised his head to look into Joseph’s eyes. “You are safe now, my little friend. The struggles of your life are over. From this day forward, you shall live in paradise, no longer tormented by the Evil One.” A beautiful smile slowly spread across Zachary’s face, lighting Heaven’s entrance with a glow that it hasn’t seen for many lifetimes. “Welcome home,” said the kindly saint, “enter into your rest.”

With these events, Zachary began his new life in Paradise. You may think that his “life,” as we know it, was over once he had perished, but for this new resident of Heaven, he was still a little boy, and his life was just beginning. Zachary could now run, and jump, and swing to his little heart’s content. Day after day, this little wanderer ran throughout Heaven, playing as he had never played before. In his running about, though, Zachary was searching for something that he just couldn’t seem to find. No matter which expanse of Heaven he explored, he still came back a little disappointed, again not finding the secret thing for which he searched.

One day, after a particularly long romp through the fields and by-ways, Zachary returned to Heaven’s gate to talk to his old friend. “Hello, Little One, how are you today?” Without slowing down to provide an answer, Zachary climbed onto the old saint’s lap and blurted out his burning question – “Joseph, are there Tonka Trucks in Heaven? I’ve looked everywhere, and I can’t find any.” Somewhat surprised, and particularly amused, Joseph glanced around and replied, “Well, I don’t know Zachary, I’ve never looked for Tonka Trucks in Heaven.” With a dejected air, Zachary slumped back into Joseph’s chest and mumbled, “I don’t know what I’m going to do then, that was my favorite thing to play with down there.” Joseph just sat there, rocking back and forth, humming his little tune, waiting for what Zachary might say next. After several moments, and with a certain burst of excitement, Zachary nearly shouted – “Do you think you could get someone to bring some up here the next time they go down to Earth? Could one of the angels bring me one?” “I don’t know,” Joseph said, “we’ll see what we can do. It may take some time, and I can’t make any promises, but we’ll see.” This satisfied Zachary for now, so he hopped down from Joseph’s lap, said goodbye, and skipped away, looking for another game he might play.

A short while later, when Zachary was running through the palm groves, he happened upon a dog sitting in the middle of a flower garden. Crawling behind a bush, Zachary lay down and pretended to be spying on the dog. It was very fluffy with gray and tan hair, had pointy ears, a black snout, and a curled tail. Our little spy was starting to come out from behind the bush when he noticed that there were two cats sitting there as well. The smaller one, colored orange and white, was leaning against the larger cat, who was gray, orange, and white, as if she were her mother. While Zachary thought the bright pink flowers looked like a comfortable bed, and couldn’t blame the animals for lying in the flowers, he was wondering why the dog wasn’t chasing the cats up a tree, “or something like that,” he said aloud. “Because they are friends,” came a voice from behind one of the trees. “You can often see them sitting or walking around together.” Turning quickly, Zachary saw an older lady leaning against the tree. “What? Hey, where did you come from?” said Zachary, “I didn’t see you before.” Stepping forward from the tree now, the woman replied, “I said they are friends, so that’s why he isn’t chasing them around.” “Oh . . . but who are you?” “I’m sorry,” said the woman, “My name is Grandma Lois, and I am the keeper of Heaven’s pets and birds. I’ve been following you since you left Joseph at the gate. I had heard that you were up here, Zachary, and I’ve been looking for you for quite some time now.” Zachary turned around again, and looking more perplexed than he did before, peered behind the tree, then glanced at the dog and cats again, who were just sitting there, looking back at him, and smiling as if they were part of some secret joke. “But, how do you know my name, and why were you looking for me?” “Zachary, I know all about you,” said Grandma Lois, “because I have been watching my granddaughter down on the Earth. She knows all about you, too, Little One, and by watching her, I have come to know you.” Sensing Zachary’s growing unease, Grandma Lois tried to comfort him. “Come here Zachary and let me explain. When a loved one dies and comes up here to Heaven, they are able to watch their family and friends back on the Earth. And sometimes, when we see that they are having trouble, we are able to help them. Well, my granddaughter has been trying very hard to fight the Evil One, but sometimes she gets tired and I need to help her out.” By this time, the animals had come over to get some love from Zachary and Grandma Lois, so while Zachary was contemplating the things he was being told, he absently scratched the dog’s ears and petted the cats, alternating his gaze from the animals to his new friend. “Grandma Lois,” said Zachary, “can I help your granddaughter too? Would I be able to help her be strong and fight the monster that hurt me?” The old woman reached down, picked-up the little boy, and held him close to her breast. With great big tears spilling from her eyes, Grandma Lois softly whispered, “You already do, Zachary . . . you already do.” From that day forward, Grandma Lois and Zachary were the best of friends. Whenever you saw one, the other was not far away. To be continued….